


sleep for days

by orphan_account



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-10
Updated: 2010-09-10
Packaged: 2017-10-11 15:34:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 558
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/113942
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They eat breakfast even though it's still dark, hastily cobbled together omelettes. Eames is playing footsy with him under the table, and Arthur doesn't have it within him to mind.</p>
            </blockquote>





	sleep for days

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from Cobra Starship's "One Day Robots Will Cry"

Arthur can't sleep. That wouldn't be an issue, but Arthur hasn't slept in days, and there isn't a reason for it, no job that needs his attention, nothing except for the fact that sometimes he can't. He's lying on his stomach in his bed, and it's pathetic. He can't read or do anything because his mind is foggy with the insomnia, can't even remember how long it's been since he slept, because he's too _tired_.

Eames comes into the room. "Still?" he asks, with some sympathy, and Arthur grunts. Eames went out hours ago, admonishing him to sleep, like that would make a difference. It didn't.

"I could wear you out," Eames says, and swats his ass, and Arthur flails to get his hand off, because he's too tired for anything right now, even that, and they've tried it, multiple times, and Arthur had watched Eames fall asleep after that, wanting to hate him for his slumber, but unable to, because Eames looked so rested, so serene in a way he never was when he was awake.

Eames sits on his ass, and Arthur's about to gather what energy he has to punch him, or pinch him or something, but then Eames' hands come down on his bare shoulders, soothing, pressing into the knots that never leave his back, tense with constant stress.

Arthur moans weakly into the pillow as Eames pushes out the knots one by one, and he can practically hear Eames smiling.

He opens his eyes what feels like hours later, and it is, actually, the day twisted down to night at some point and Eames asleep beside him, mouth open. He's drooling on the pillow, a little, and Arthur's disgusted by the fact he finds that endearing.

Arthur presses a kiss against the line of his back, then another, where his spine curves in. Eames wakes, because he wakes at everything, the slightest change. "How was your nap?" he asks, the syllables coming out long and hoarse, choked with sleep.

"Good," Arthur says. "Thanks." When Eames turns to kiss him, Arthur meets him halfway.

They eat breakfast even though it's still dark, hastily cobbled together omelettes. Eames is playing footsy with him under the table, and Arthur doesn't have it within him to mind.

"You were a right pain in the arse," Eames tells him conversationally. "I considered grinding up sedatives and putting them in your food."

Arthur raises an eyebrow.

"They didn't work," Eames says ruefully, and Arthur can't help but grin at him.

He still feels sluggish, exhausted, but it's tempered now, like a fucked out Sunday. He reads up on what he needs to read up on, and Eames calls a few of his contacts, throws tendrils out now that Arthur isn't too exhausted to take a job.

Nothing important comes up, and when it's light Arthur reads the paper, Eames reading the crossword over his shoulder and pointing out words. It's annoying, or it should be. They finish it in record time.

Around noon the exhaustion takes hold of him again, and Eames watches BBC news while Arthur lies with his head in his lap, Eames hand absently carding through his hair, like he isn't entirely aware he's doing it. The volume's low, and Eames' hand is soothing, and it's so easy, just right then, to drift back into sleep.


End file.
